


I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire

by KateKintail



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man (Ultimateverse)
Genre: Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's got a dangerous fever and Bobby helps him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire

Since the events of Ultimatum, Bobby Drake had suffered through many sleepless nights. With so many dead, he felt like dealing with bouts of insomnia was the least he could suffer through. Besides, he would just be haunted by the nightmares when asleep. He reached for the book by his pillow, figuring that he might as well get some of his required reading done for school. It was then that he realized the room wasn’t as dark as normal. He didn’t even have to flip on his reading light to see the pages he’d left off on. But the light was warm, flickering, irregular. “Johnny?” 

The metal springs gave and creaked slightly as Johnny Storm stirred in the top bunk above Bobby. There was silence a moment, then dry, hacking coughing. That sounded bad. 

Putting down the book, Bobby rolled out of the lower bunk. He stepped back and looked up. Johnny lay on his back, one hand on his forehead, the other on his chest. Both hands were on fire. Flames leapt upward, reflected in the mirror across the room, lighting up the bedroom they shared. Bobby climbed up the first two rugs of the ladder, folded his arms upon the mattress, and rested his chin upon them. “Hey, Johnny. You feeling sick?”

Johnny looked at him, nodded, and coughed again. “Yeah. Think so. My throat’s killing me and my head’s on fire.”

“Literally.” 

“What?”

Bobby tilted his head, pointing. 

“Oh, damn it. Flame off.” Nothing happened. “ _Off!_ ” he insisted. It took a few seconds for the flame to obey, but finally the glow faded and the fire went out. As their eyes began to adjust, Bobby reached out and put a hand to Johnny’s forehead. It was burning up. From the flame? Or from fever? Bobby pressed the back of his hand to Johnny’s cheek. Also warm. 

Johnny’s body shook with coughs, springing up off the mattress. He was definitely sick, all right. When the coughs passed, and he was breathing normally again, Bobby took his hand and squeezed. “How can I help? Should I go get Aunt May?”

Johnny shook his head. “No, don’t bother waking her up.”

“Should I…” He hated suggesting it, but he knew he had to be honest about what he was thinking. “Should I call your sister?”

Johnny winced. “No. I… no. Please don’t.” He sounded close to tears, which wasn’t like him at all. The fever must have gotten to him. He rubbed his forehead again. “It’s probably just a bug or something. I don’t want to make Sue worry about me.” He sounded a lot like he had when they’d moved in with Peter Parker and his aunt. Johnny had been in shock still and Bobby… Bobby had seen so many X-Men die and had been helpless to stop it. A few of his friends and teammates were still out there somewhere, but even if the X-Men weren’t finished, the government was hunting down mutants. It wasn’t safe for any of them now. 

But they were safe here. Safe pretending to be Peter’s cousins. Safe staying here with Aunt May and Gwen Stacy and Spider-Man. Or as safe as they could be. 

Johnny coughed again and, halfway through the fit, burst entirely into flames. 

“Whoa!” Bobby exclaimed in surprised, pulling back, shieling his face from the fire with his hands, losing his balance, falling back to the floor. “Warn a guy next time!” Bobby called to him. 

“I… can’t… turn it off.” Johnny screwed up his face. Flames leapt to his mattress and Bobby grabbed his blanket and climbed back up. He slapped at the wayward flames. 

Johnny’s power was a lot like his own in that Johnny could harness fire the way Bobby could control water and turn it to ice. But the Human Torch didn’t seem to be able to control anything right now. “Johnny… come on, man… get it together.”

With considerable effort, Johnny concentrated and, at last, made the flames die down again. But, by then, the damage was done. His sheets and blanket were scorched. And his pillow, singed a bit, was also damp with sweat. 

Being in the top bunk was dangerous for him. At least down below, Bobby could look after him. Maybe he could even keep him from setting fire to the mattress and falling through a Johnny Storm-shaped hole inadvertently burned into it. “Come down here. It’s safer.” There was that word again. False promise or reassurance? Bobby wasn’t sure which it was. But he tugged on Johnny’s arm. “C’mon, Johnny. I’ll look after you.” 

It took a little more tugging and a lot more convincing, but finally Johnny managed to climb down off the top bunk. He wobbled unsteadily on his feel before collapsing into Bobby’s bed. He lay, panting and overheated, even without the flame. 

There was a knock on the door. Johnny rolled onto his side, curling in on himself with his back to the door, coughing a little more, into Bobby’s pillow. Meanwhile, Bobby answered the door. A bleary-eyed Peter stood there in a tank top and boxers. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Spidey sense tingling, is it?” Bobby asked. 

Peter nodded. “That and your room’s right under the spot in the attic where my desk is. I heard you yell and heard coughing. What’s going on?”

“Johnny’s not feeling too hot. Or, actually, he is feeling too hot. He keeps bursting into flame without meaning to.” 

Peter nodded, this time in thought. “That sort of makes sense. I have a theory that Johnny’s flames come from his own sweat in a reaction that breaks it into hydrogen and oxygen. Then that hydrogen burns and the—“

“Peter!” Bobby hissed desperately. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ll look into it. Just… try to keep him from burning the house down, all right?” 

Bobby closed the bedroom door just as Johnny burst into flame again. The whole bottom bunk lit up around Johnny. In a panic, Bobby was at his side, trying to figure out what to do. He reached out to soothe Bobby, to stroke his arm or his cheek. But he couldn’t get his hand close enough because of the flames. Instinctively, as his hand got too hot, it turned to ice to compensate. Encased in ice, it seemed to withstand the flames. Cautiously, Bobby moved it closer and closer, until his palm lay upon Johnny’s burning forehead. 

As he cupped his hand to the curve, Johnny’s flames went out. It was like Bobby had found an off switch. And Johnny, burning with fever, moved closer to Bobby in appreciation. “That feels good,” Johnny said. Except, a moment later, he shivered. Then he sneezed, wincing as he felt the spray against his own face. 

Bobby got up to retrieve a tissue box and he got a glass of water while he was at it. When he returned, Johnny was tossing restlessly in bed, sweat dripping down his face. Bobby watched as little flames began to leap from those trails. Quickly, Bobby pressed an icy hand to Johnny’s cheek. Just as quickly as the flames had begun, they ended. “All right then. I guess I know what I’ll be doing for the rest of the night.” He handed a tissue to Johnny, who snuffled and rubbed at his nose. Bobby kept his palm pressed to Johnny’s forehead then began stroking his thumb along the bridge of Johnny’s nose. “Try to sleep, Johnny.”

But Johnny couldn’t sleep, and Bobby couldn’t blame him. “Do you want me to read to you? I’ve got some Henry V for English class.” 

Johnny opened an eye and glared at Bobby.

“Okay, not a Shakespeare fan. Got it.”

“Just keep doing that,” Johnny said, his voice rough, weak. It wasn’t usual for him to be so quiet. No smart-alecky remarks, no boasting. He seemed miserable, hurt. But if this made him feel better, Bobby was willing to keep it up.

Though the idea of being in constant contact with Johnny would normally have been appealing, Bobby wished it didn’t have to be this way. Still, he promised. “I will.” 

Time passed slowly, inching along like they’d been hit by a villain’s slow motion ray. They shifted about a bit throughout the night. Bobby squeezed onto his bed instead of sitting on the floor. And after a while, Johnny’s head migrated from the pillow onto Bobby’s lap. Hours later, Bobby ended up lying beside Johnny in bed, one icy hand pressed to Johnny’s chest and the other caressing his cheek. Johnny moved closer, growing warm and agitated. So Bobby turned entirely to ice, and Johnny relaxed. They both nodded off a couple times. Each time, they were woken by Johnny’s need to sneeze or his strong coughs. 

It was close to the time they would have been up for school when there was a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in!” Bobby called, so sleepy beyond measure that his eyes hurt. 

An exhausted-looking Peter was at the door. It took him a few moments to understand what he was seeing, the two of them snuggled into bed together, Johnny somewhat out of it and Bobby in full Iceman mode. “You wanted me to keep him from burning down the house, remember?” 

“I had in mind a cold compress, but I guess that works too.” 

“Did you come up with anything?” 

Peter shook his head. “Not yet. But I brought Aspirin and Nyquil.” He held up both bottles. “And I’ll have Aunt May call you both in… sick… at school.” Peter directed a violent yawn into his shoulder.

That was a start. “Better have her do the same for you. You look beat, Pete.” 

Peter nodded wearily. 

When the door closed again, Johnny nuzzled his face against Bobby’s icy shoulder. 

“Hey,” Bobby whispered. “I was kinda hoping you were asleep just then.”

“Nope. Just too embarrassed to speak up.”

Bobby bristled slightly. “Your massive ego can’t stand the idea of you and me being seen in bed together half-naked?”

Johnny laughed. “I don’t mind that part. It’s the part where I look sick and weak. Not so fantastic. Not exactly a superhero.” 

“Luckily, we’re supposed to be incognito, remember?”

Johnny smiled then sneezed into Bobby’s chest. Bobby comfortingly stroked the back of his neck. “Let me get you some of that medicine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Running Hot III meme. Prompt: When Johnny gets sick/delerious he can't control his flame - how far does Bobby have to go to keep him from incinerating himself into oblivion? (Okay, that's kind of dramatic...because I'd totally go for a much lower-key of Bobby using his ice hands to do a sponge bath thing...)
> 
> Title is obviously Robert Frost’s work, not mine: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173527 
> 
> And Peter’s sciencetalk is courtesy of “The Science of the Human Torch” on Fanon Wiki: http://fanon.wikia.com/wiki/Science_of_the_Human_Torch


End file.
